Old Dogs

Mean Girls

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Speak!

Bo will only sit for Honey Nut Cheerios.  Possibly
because they're a honey of an O!  

Special love box!

The following people are the
coolest.  For varying reasons.

My
AB don't mess around,
because she loves me so, and
this I know fo sho.

Coleen knows what's cooler
than cool--ICE COLD!

Lauren don't want to hear me,
she just wants to DANCE.

Allison don't want to meet your
DADdy.

Hannah Beth just wants you in
her CADdy.

Amy don't want to meet your
MOMma.

And Miss
Sarah B. is shaking it
like a polaroid picture RIGHT
NOW.

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Y'all!  Don't you want to join my shiny
new Notify?  Why not?  Is it because
you like making me cry?  Or is it
because the damn thing NEVER
NOTIFIES PEOPLE like it is
supposed to? Fucking Notify.

Very nice, right?  No.  And not for long.  Now, what you could hypothetically
do to this co-worker/boss/person of interest, is the following.

First, you find a crayon in the same hue-family as the crayons used by the
child.  Buy the big 128 pack if you have to.  Sometimes being mean?  Is
expensive and can cost upwards of four dollars.

Practice your little kid writing.  If you are right-handed, use your left hand.  
That is just a suggestion I made up right now and in no way indicates that I
have done anything like this EVER BEFORE in my sainted life.

And then take the picture, and...elaborate!

See, you're not...destroying the picture, per se.  You're adding on.  And
don't feel guilty about the kid!  They make thirty of these a day in
kindergarten.  Newsprint is cheap.  And besides!  Before?  Boring.  Now?  
FABULOUS.

You may wish to take an alternate route.  Something more subtle.  Where
words are not needed.  This, too, is acceptable.  Here is an example of
what I mean:

MUCH improved.  It's like you were BORN to do this.

Now, remember that the goal here is
subtlety.  You want to see how long
the...
improved picture can hang over Mom's desk before she realizes
what has happened.  Meanwhile, you want everyone else to be coming in
and noticing it, and thinking, "So THAT'S how it is in their family.  Insane."  

And you'd be kind of amazed at how long this can go on.  Moms and dads
don't LOOK at their pictures every day.  They don't READ them.  Particularly
if those pictures are not in their line of vision.  If they're on a wall, or
hanging behind your mark?  They may go unnoticed for a YEAR OR
MORE. I may be familiar with such a situation.  Possibly.

But be careful.  If you finish, and your picture looks like this:

You may have gone too far.  

And then it's time to sit back, take a deep breath, and clear your mind.

That's right.  Cleeeeaaaaar your miiiiiiind.  Blaaaaaaaank slaaaaaate.  
Imagine the biiiiiirds in the treeeeees.  The ooooooooocean waaaaves.  
Sooooothing thoughts.   

And when your mind is finally empty, and you finally feel at ease, I have
only four words to say to you.

Her name?  Was LOLA.

Previous

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Y'all, today let's think of mean things to do to people.  I will go first.

Now, some would say I am a mean person. Some would argue that it
was, perhaps, very MEAN of me to hoist my "monkey" problem onto the
rest of the internet.  Some even felt that perhaps, "GAH before I was not
thinking about monkeys and now I am thinking about monkeys and I have
become convinced that the baby I am carrying in my womb is not, in fact, a
HUMAN child but actually a MONKEY infant because why ELSE am I
eating so many bananas all of a sudden and this is a PROBLEM because
did you know that monkeys throw their own POO at you, and now I have
THAT to look forward to from my offspring and it is ALL YOUR FAULT
AARRRRRRGHHHH. MONKEY."

Hee.  Oh, y'all.  I had to do it.  I just couldn't help myself.  Monkey!  Now we
are all suffering alike.  I vote that we blame El Dukay!

If you needed a soundtrack to go along with thinking about monkeys, the
helpful El Dukay suggests "Monkey Man" by the Rolling Stones.   Which is
a song I don't really know, but I do know that part where Mick's lips holler,
"I'm a MONKAAAAHHHHH," or something to that effect.

Oh!  Something else mean you can do to people is to get an obscure
song stuck in their heads.  You're welcome!

Actually, that really
is a mean thing to do.  In law school, one of my best
friends and I used to play the Evil Song Game all the time.  Oh, we were
relentless.  We'd be studying quietly in the library, trying to memorize the
difference between a fee simple and a life estate and res ipsa who?
when all of a sudden, he'd lean over and whisper, veeeeery quietly, so
only I could hear:

Hey!  Psst.  Every now and then I get a little bit lonely, and you're never
coming ROUND.

And then I'd spend the day humming Total Eclipse of the Heart.  Badly.  
Did you know that our love is like a powder keg?  Apparently, it is giving off
sparks.

So I'd have to retaliate.  Obviously.  My favorite weapon was
Hero, by
Enrique Iglesias, who gets mentioned quite frequently on this website,
now that I think about it.  (Note to self:  stop mentioning Enrique Iglesias.)  
Anyway, I'd come up behind him, and whisper, my voice trembling with
raw emotion:

Would you DANCE?  If I asked you to...DANCE?

But see, at that point, you kind of have to start sobbing loudly and
dramatically.  IT IS A VERY MOVING SONG.

But the worst.  OH, THE WORST.  The nuclear weapon of the Evil Song
Game, a song so horrendously infectious that people cannot stop singing
it even after twenty years, despite its having NO REDEEMING MUSICAL
VALUE.  And he'd always use it on me, that prick.  I'd be reading.  Sitting
outside.  Enjoying the sun.  And he'd walk by, then casually spin around,
and announce the dreaded, horrible words:

Her name was LOLA.  She was a SHOW girl.

And, AIIEEEEEEEEEEEEE, there is no more terrifyingly virulent song than
the fucking COPACABANA, and once you start singing it, well, you might
as well just shoot yourself in the head because that is the ONLY WAY to
remove the cancer of Barry Manilow that has taken up residence in your
frontal lobe.

And it's just so bad, and it makes my head hurt, and...and...

At the COPA!

DAMMIT!  I seem to have infected myself.  

Okay, but anyway, that is a very mean thing to do, too.  But I am so not
done.  It is time for the Seriously Mean Things.

The first Seriously Mean Thing can only be performed with a great deal of
assistance.  You will need accomplices.  Probably nobody will die.

The idea here is to have a party.  And you are INTO this party, man, like
this is a MAJOR FUCKING PARTY.  And the reason that this party is such
a big deal is that it is a THEME party, a COSTUME PARTY, and people
who do not dress up, well, you plan on hating them forever.  

And then you choose some random theme.  Like, I don't know.  FOR
EXAMPLE.  You buy a bunch of Eddie Izzard videos, maybe, and plan on
holding an Eddie Izzard screening party.  And because Eddie Izzard is a
transvestite stand-up comedian, you inform your guests that the theme of
the party is cross-dressing.  EXTREME cross-dressing.  

Except, this is not really what you tell your guests.  This is just what you
tell ONE guest.  Preferably the one who would not, for all the money in the
world, cross-dress under normal circumstances.  But you tell everyone
else your evil plan.  And so when he calls them, all,  "Yeah, I want to go to
this party, but are you dressing up?"  that person will respond, "Of
COURSE I am dressing up.  Do you think I want to RUIN the whole PARTY
by not dressing up?  Oh, my God!  If someone didn't dress up, then the
hostess  would probably fall dead on the ground.  That is how serious
she is about the dressing up."  And then he will say, "Well, maybe I should
dress up," and then the other person would say, "YES, you had BETTER
dress up, and I expect to see eyeshadow and a feather boa."

And then the party comes, and Surprise!   Nobody is dressed up!  Except
for your poor dumb friend wearing the stilettos and the pained expression,
and your insides burn with a special glee that can only come directly from
Satan.   Gotcha!

But even that isn't SO bad, because he can always just wash his face and
go barefoot, unless he put on an evening gown or something, and then,
damn!  You got him good!

But the damage is not really lasting.  If you want true meanness, you have
to do some lasting damage.  Like this!  And this is so, so evil, and such a
warped product of my sick little head, and I CANNOT BELIEVE that I am
about to share it with all of y'all, and provide A PHOTO HOW-TO, and when
you get yourselves FIRED, don't come bawling to me.  That is your
warning.

Okay.  Let's imagine, briefly, that you work in an office.  And that there's
someone there IN that office you just don't much like.  And let's imagine
that this person displays, in his or her office, crayon pictures lovingly
created by his or her children, who will no doubt require extensive therapy
later in life when they discover that their father/mother/guardian is a
fucking ASS.

Anyway.  Imagine that.  Imagine those pictures.  And let's say that THIS is
the picture:

I am wicked.  It is fun.